She always knew this day would come.
Discord had reigned long and cruelly for decades. To think that she, a mere demigoddess for less than two centuries, could usurp him, was more than folly. It was suicide. She had learned this in short order over the past hour. Oh, dear Mother and Father above, how she had learned.
Her wing had been gummed up and maimed by acidic chewing gum. Her back legs had been rendered nearly useless by a surprise cloud of nerve gas. It would all heal in time, but if Luna couldn’t find the Elements soon enough, it would be time she didn’t have. The only thing keeping her alive was her horn and the magic behind it. Though, given the sheer volume of sharp objects speeding through the air, it was no stretch to imagine that those would soon be gone too.
And if (or when) she did fall, if she died... Discord’s wrath would be turned on the warriors that were fighting alongside her.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Then she was struck by lightning, and she found she couldn’t do much else.
“Well, well, well,” crooned the chimera’s unctuous, ugly voice, emanating from all directions at once. “Looks like your goose is cooked, Celly. I suppose that wraps up the main course. On to dessert!”
From somewhere far off, Celestia heard her subjects’ terrified cries as manticores, cockatrices, and Mother knew what else sprang into existence and fell on them like an avalanche of mismatched parts and awful, unending hunger.
Far above her, a single massive thundercloud the color of burning parchment was growing, ready to deliver a coup de grace to a barely alive would-be princess.
It was almost a relief. The bolt would hit her, her nervous system would short out, and then this whole futile conflict would cease to be her problem.
She closed her eyes.
The roar of point-blank thunder sounded in her ears, her fur stood on end, and the stench of ozone became readily apparent. But death did not come.
She opened her eyes again.
Standing above her, lightly singed, was a pegasus in full battle regalia. She had seen him before, just before she had departed for this ill-thought-out duel with the mad god. He shared her coat color. It was sort of a neat thing to notice at the time.
There were scorch marks on the ground surrounding them. Apparently the art of electromancy was not entirely lost among Pegasi. He turned to her, smiling.
“I take it negotiations went as planned, Your Highness?”
“Yes,” she said, rising shakily through the power of immortal regenerative biology. “They were awful.”
“I certainly hope the lightning was just a test, or else I might have to start feeling important.”
“Heavens forbid, Groundwire," she muttered as she stumbled past him. "We certainly wouldn’t want your head getting any bigger than it already is.”
He smiled. Then he stopped smiling.
“What’s the damage?”
“Nearly useless,” she grumbled. “Can’t fly, can’t walk more than a few yards, certainly can’t cast magic.” All this while her internal systems were neatly and silently re-knitting themselves. “How are things on your end?”
“I left the brigades in good hands, Your Highness. We’ll pull through this time, just like all the others.”
“I hope so,” she said, coming to a stop. “I... I have to rest. Recuperate. Go on and save the day. I’ll be with you as soon as my wing heals.”
“Respectfully...” She felt a lift under one wing. “...I don’t think I will.”
He was supporting most of her weight, carrying her with him towards the nearest settlement.
“I know an apothecary, Your Highness. We can have you fixed up in no time at all.”
“Groundwire, really. I can...”
His eyes met hers.
“Your Highness,” he said, admonishingly, “I just want to help.”
She sighed, leaning on him for support, and began walking again. She may have been a minor demigoddess for less than two centuries, but she had one thing over Discord that she would never lose.
Because unlike him, she was not alone.
***
She always knew this day would come.
It didn’t mean she was in any way prepared.
The coronation ceremony was tonight. She and Luna were becoming the crown princesses tonight! And she had nothing to wear! She didn’t know how Platinum had done it.
Okay, Celestia, just pick one. Any one. The most talented seamstresses in Everfree have devoted hundreds of hours to making you look presentable. No pressure. Just know that the ones you don’t pick will forever be the shame of their weavers, who will probably fade into obscurity and never pick up a sewing needle again... argh!
Once again, she glared at the rack of immaculate, undeniably wonderful dresses. Perhaps one would jump out and volunteer. Once again, not one did.
Then her bedroom door slammed open. Dresses suddenly became the last thing on her mind.
“Your prayers have been answered, fillies and gentlecolts!" announced a boisterously deep voice. "Your prince has arrived!”
In strutted Groundwire, dressed in golden plate and looking for all the world like he had never even set foot on a dirty surface, much less led a war effort against a mad god. He cleaned up well.
“You’re not the prince yet, Groundwire,” she pointed out with a smirk.
“Ah, formalities.” He waved his hoof dismissively. “I might as well be. I mean, I’m handsome, charming...”
“Humble.”
“That, too. Aaaand..." he neared her in a motion that could only be described as moseying. "...I and the soon-to-be-crowned Princess Celestia have been going steady for, what, three years now? Four?”
“Certainly doesn’t seem like that long since Discord, does it?”
“Not long enough for my liking.”
This caught her slightly by surprise. “Don’t tell me you enjoy being a relic of a forgotten age?”
“If it only takes ponies four years to forget being turned into balloon animals every third Tuesday, I’d say we’re doing pretty good for ourselves.”
“True enough.”
Somewhere, silently, the mood died in its sleep.
“So, I see you’re once again fretting about your choice of dress, despite the fact that you’d look ravishing in pretty much anything.”
“How sweet...”
Clear. Zap.
“...but that’s still the shallowest attempt to cheer me up ever, and you know it.”
Beeeeeeeeep.
“Here, let me see if I can’t narrow your selection for you.” He trotted to the closet, closed his eyes, and pointed a hoof. “Eenie, meanie, miney, moe—”
“Groundwire.”
“—catch a dragon by the toe—”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“—And-my-mother-said-to-pick-the-very-best-one-and you... are... it! Here we are.”
The dress he pulled out was woven from gossamer silk. Its threads coruscated and scintillated green, pink, and cyan in the late afternoon sunset.
She donned it immediately. In retrospect, how could she have worn anything different?
“It’s wonderful.”
“I agree. Now that that crisis is over, your chariot awaits!” He gestured grandly to the hallway outside.
“I guess. Allons-y, as they say in Prance.”
“Oh, please don’t start that.”
They were halfway out of the door when Groundwire noticed, “You know, you already owned the dress. I don’t know why you’re thanking me for taking it off the rack for you.”
She bopped him upside the head with a wingtip. “You picked it out. That makes it special.”
He recoiled dramatically. “Oh, stop it!” he cried, grinning stupidly. “You’re going to make me blush!”
Celestia was supposed to be a regal, refined lady of the court. A princess, no less, with all the grace and poise that entailed. But guffawing like a drunkard was permitted on occasion.
***
She always knew this day would come.
Princess Celestia, absolute diarch of Equestria, crown princess and the most powerful magical being in existence...
...was bored.
She realized this with a mild start halfway through a particularly drab Day Court. There were the nobles, as usual, clamoring for her to settle a dispute — or a bet, if she was unlucky. There were the serfs, who as usual were completely in the dark regarding the myriad rights that they really didn’t need to be here to ask about.
And then there was her, bored out of her skull. In terms of novelty, ruling a country had lasted her twenty years. There had been shorter “honeymoons” in her life.
A courtier noisily cleared his throat. “To see Her Royal Majesty Celestia, Prince Fulminas.”
And speaking of honeymoons...
“Thank you, Italic. Everypony, please,” she called, “clear the room. I would wish to speak with the prince alone.”
The doors opposite her opened, and the various courtly hangers-on all filed out, leaving a single white, golden-shod pegasus standing in the threshold.
He looked a little old to be called “prince,” but such was tradition.
“Good afternoon, love,” he called, trotting down the long aisle as the doors swung shut behind him.
“And a very warm how-do-you-do to you, Fulminas. Since when was that your name?”
“Well,” he said, “it’s a royals thing. Can’t be married to the Crown Immortal God-Empress of Ponykind with a name like Groundwire, now can we?”
She sighed, chuckling to herself. “Is that what they call me these days? Quite a mouthful, isn’t it?”
“It’s failing to catch on,” he noted, ascending the stairs to the dais. “It’s survived for, what, a week? I think ponies are just forgetting all the words to it.”
“Well, when you live in a place called ‘The Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters,’ everypony scrambles to make the associated terms just as needlessly abstruse.”
He stopped by the throne.
“‘Abstruse’?”
“It’s a word.”
“It is not, it’s ‘obtuse’. ‘Abstruse’ is a weird nonsense word that you just made up and started using because you’re the princess.”
“I looked it up in the dictionary, it’s real!”
“Is not,” he insisted, flopping down on a pillow by the throne.
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
“It is, by royal decree.”
Groundwire stared at his wife and princess with severely narrowed eyes.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But only because I love you so much.”
“You do? Gee, it sounds like we’re fighting.”
“I wasn’t fighting. Were you fighting? Because I was not fighting.”
She gave him a look. It was a rather lookish type of look.
“I don’t know, you were—”
“I was not fighting.”
“You make it sound like that’s not exactly what I wanted.”
It was his turn to give her a very lookish look.
“I am affronted, ma’am! Are you trying to drive me off? Are you sparking these debates betwixt us, trying to drive a wedge in our love?”
The look she now had was less lookish and more amused. It was the look that proclaimed to the world, “Let there be Sarcasm Tennis,” and it was good.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. I’m not the sort. Haven’t you heard? Crown Princess Immortal God-Empress Celestia is only the most noble-hearted and flawless maiden in all of Everfree — nay, in all of Equestria! — and she is indubitably above such matters.”
“Really?” he said, feigning wonderment at the mention of this “maiden.” “And what else do they say about this amazing mare?”
She reclined on her throne. “Oh, only that she is as radiant as the morning sun...”
“She sounds familiar.”
“That she is beautiful to behold, and brings joy to those who gaze upon her...”
“I think I may have seen her once or twice.”
“And she is married to a rather scraggly fellow, by the name of—”
“What!? ‘Scraggly’? Wow, we must be thinking of entirely different Celestias, then.”
“Oh? And what do you know?”
“Well, I know her husband’s not ‘scraggly.’” He stood. “I hear he’s a dashing knight of the Imperial Guard, who has faced Discord himself and lived!”
“Impossible.”
“No! It’s true! And he is said to possess such stunning good looks as to woo the heart of every fair maiden in Everfree.”
“I would very much like to meet this stallion. He sounds like such a step up.”
There was that lookish look again.
“Well,” he continued, subtly inching nearer to her, “He could have his pick of the lot in Everfree, but he doesn’t. And do you know why?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Because he has the most amazing...” He edged closer. “...illustrious...” Closer.
“Yes?”
“...most wonderful and lovely wife in the whole world...”
She turned to find him nose-to-nose with her, with a smile the size of Everfree gardens on his face.
“...and why should he settle for anything less?”
She pondered this.
“I don’t know,” she thought, out loud. “She sounds like she’d be awful in bed.”
“That sounds like a topic warranting further investigation.”
“I concur.”
“How’s right now sound?”
Celestia pounced in lieu of a proper answer. The pillows surrounding the throne were there for a reason.
She was bored of the Court. But she could never get bored of this.
***
She always knew this day would come.
And he did, too. They were ready for something like this.
For nothing deserved more preparation and forethought than this world-shaking event. Nothing could be more tragic, more heart-rending, or more unbearable than this.
Groundwire, who had lived for so long and had seen and done so much...
...was finally starting to feel his age.
He certainly didn’t look like he was older than dirt, though that was more likely the ever-increasing amounts of armor covering up the thin patches on his fur. When his mane started to fall out, he got a plume bolted onto his helmet that looked like he had gotten a mohawk when you stared at it right.
Then his joints started to go, and no amount of covering up could fix that. Not without help at least.
And thank goodness his wonderful, amazing, kindhearted wife, Princess Celestia herself, knew just the pony to go to.
Too bad they had to walk there to see him.
“Ow. Ow. Ow.”
“Quit it! You act like this is the first time you’ve walked anywhere.”
“First time in two months. It was just as bad then, too.”
“You aren’t nearly old enough to be acting like this big of a baby.”
“I’m eighty-six! How much longer do I have to wait!?”
“Hopefully, forever. I’ve known Mister Dallas for a while, and he’s not one to cut corners.” She gave him an uncharacteristically genuine smile and nuzzled him. “Don’t worry. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.”
“And by that, I hope you mean my young self.”
“Right.”
“Are you alright, Celestia? You sound worried.”
She gave a start and shook her head.
“Worried? Who’s worried? I’m not worried in the slightest. Your life insurance company is the one worrying. Why should I be?”
He shoved her. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Where is this ‘Dallas’ fellow?”
“Here, as a matter of fact.”
The house was rather simple, as most buildings at that point in history were. But being built so far from Everfree Castle made it stand out quite a bit — mostly because if you were walking this far, you were more often than not headed straight for it.
“I still don’t see what an old hermit like this guy can do to help me.”
“Well, you’re an old hermit yourself, so I’d watch it if I were you.”
Groundwire chuckled and hobbled to the door. “Alright, you win. Now where’s the knocker on this thing?”
“No knocker!” called a voice from inside. “Don’t need one!”
The door opened to reveal a dusty-tan unicorn inside, splotched with soot and grime of unidentifiable origin.
“Hi there! Name’s Day Dallas. But you can call me Day.”
“Hello there, Day,” said Groundwire. “I’m old. Her Highness over there said you could fix that.”
“Her Highness exaggerates,” Day said, shooting a glance in her direction. “Aging’s been pretty tough to crack for those of us not fortunate enough to have been born tied to a cosmic body.”
“Are you going to let us in,” Celestia interjected, “or are you two just going to swap barbs at my expense?”
“I don’t know,” Groundwire said. “This is actually quite fun.”
“Get inside, you old codger.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he sighed.
The interior of the hovel matched its owner — tan all over and coated with dark, powdery stains in the oddest of places.
“Sorry about the mess, Princess. I would have cleaned up, but you know. No broom.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Mister Dallas. I simply wished to inquire as to the state of my commissioned piece.”
“It’s coming along swimmingly, Your Highness. I take it old Fulminas here,” he bumped Groundwire with his elbow. “is to be the recipient?”
“Recipient?” the recipient in question asked. “Of what?”
“Think of it as our anniversary present.”
“Groundwire fears for his safety.”
“Groundwire should stop acting like such a foal,” Day muttered, rummaging under a desk looking for something. “Seeing as he’s eighty-six and a war veteran besides.”
“Hey, I’m not as sturdy as I look! Ask Celestia, she’s broken at least one bone without meaning to!”
“And I fixed it right after. I wish you’d stop holding it over me.”
“It hurt!”
“Princess, can you get him to shut up for a second? I’m trying to remember where I put it.”
“Shut up?! I’m the crown prince of Equestria! You can’t tell me to—”
“Shut up, Groundwire.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Ah! Here we are!” Day emerged from under the desk with a cloth-wrapped bundle. “It’s not completely done, but this is the piece that works best for now.”
“What is he talking about?”
“This.”
With a flourish, Day whisked the tarp off of the object. Underneath was a golden guardspony’s helmet, glowing an almost unnoticeably faint blue.
“A helmet? Aww, Celestia, you didn’t have to get me a helmet for our anniversary.”
“I just figured, hey! He’s already got forty! Why not add another one?”
“It’s not just a helmet,” Day said, unwilling to play along with the couple's antics. “It’s a seat for one of the most intricate and sophisticated charms ever devised.”
“Which, naturally, you came up with.”
“Right.”
“Celestia, tell me. Does his head look like it’s getting bigger?”
“Alright, you old coot, do you want to see what it does or not?”
“Fine.”
Day levitated the helmet to the pegasus, who donned it after a moment’s hesitation.
“I don’t feel any different.”
“Give it a moment.”
Groundwire waited. It really didn’t feel any different. He looked around. Nothing had changed. There was just Day, sitting like something was about to happen, Celestia, smiling at him like he’d just done a cute trick, and he could see again.
Wait a minute.
“I can see again!”
“That means it’s working.”
“Holy Celestia!”
“Yes?”
“No, not you. My eyes haven’t worked this well in thirty years!” He turned to Day, and marvelled at the fact that he could make out every disgusting grain of soot on him. “You need a shower.”
“I can take the helmet back, you know.”
“No, no! I like it!" he exclaimed, clutching his hooves protectively over it. "How much?”
“Your wife has graciously paid for the artifacts and enchantment process in advance. If I were you, I’d at least do the dishes tonight.”
“We have maids for that.”
“Well at least say thank you, sheesh! She’s been standing there for a whole minute while you prattle on...” He trailed off after the two practically leaped to each other’s hooves, sharing a kiss that was almost hilariously over-the-top.
“Right,” Day said. “I suppose I’ll just go finish the rest of it, then.”
They didn’t answer. He made for the back room, leaving them in their embrace.
After a while longer, they finally came back up for air, which was probably for the best.
“Well?” Celestia asked. “Is this or is this not the best anniversary you’ve ever had?”
“It definitely reminded me of why I married you.”
“You married me because I was the only mare in existence who could stand your sense of humor.”
“That too.”
“And it’s not just the eyesight. I convinced Mister Dallas to add a few... cosmetic effects as well.”
“Cosmetic?” he parroted, backing away. “What do you mean, ‘cosmetic’?” She neglected to answer him, merely smiling knowingly at him. “Wait. My voice!”
Indeed, his voice. It had risen an octave or so in pitch and lost quite a bit of its “sandpaper over a gravel road” quality. In short, he sounded like he was twenty years old again.
“And,” Celestia added, “one other thing as well.” She gestured to a mirror that Day had conveniently mounted on the opposite wall. What was visible in it gave Groundwire a start.
He was a very handsome, young head stuck on top of a very old, graying body.
"So," he muttered, checking himself uncertainly, "do you think I'll be able to fly again?"
"That was sort of the point."
“Well, then, please tell me he’s almost done with the rest of this.”
“Someone’s eager, I see.”
“Well, yeah! With these, I can look, sound, and feel like I did sixty years ago! It’s amazing! And on top of everything else, I’ll get to leave a beautiful corpse when my liver finally goes out.”
“Well, that may not be as soon as you think.”
“...What?”
She leaned closer to him.
“I’ve been spiking your food with magic,” she whispered. “Think of the next forty to fifty years as my next anniversary present.”
He grimaced. It looked like he couldn’t make up his mind between abject horror at the notion of being magically mickeyed into unnatural longevity, or sheer joy at the prospect of living the next half-century at a subjective twenty years old.
“You, my fair lady," he chuckled, embracing her once more, "are quite insane.”
“Would you rather I be normal and boring?”
"Not in the slightest."
***
She always knew this day would come.
Prince Fulminas, known to an ever-dwindling number of close friends as Groundwire, had finally overestimated himself. And now he was feeling every minute of the century a certain enchanted set of armor would otherwise have let him ignore.
...Which was why she was here, in the infirmary waiting room, perusing the latest Starswirl the Bearded novel. Yes, Starswirl the Bearded. Hard science fiction was a guilty pleasure of hers.
“Your Highness?” That was the caretaker. Nurse Something-Heart. She’d remember it later. “Prince Fulminas is stable. He’d like to see you.”
Inside, most of Groundwire’s limbs were being suspended by slings, the rest being wrapped in linens so thick they made him look like a stuffed animal. It made the duodecentarian look like he’d been injured in a much more spectacular fashion than he had — that fashion being a landing that had been just a tad too hard.
“Hi there, dear. Looks like I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a, heh, a bind.”
Horrible puns notwithstanding, Celestia was prepared to perform one of her least seemly princessly duties. It was an ancient technique that had not been exercised in nearly a century. It was not at all pleasant.
Mortals called it “tough love.”
Celestia took a deep breath, letting the air blow silently out before speaking.
“Groundwire.”
He looked back up with that same, timeless grin of his.
“No, listen to me.”
...which immediately vanished.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“Celestia, I—”
“No. You’re the demi-mortal Prince of Equestria, and no one else is going to say this to you. This lack of caution is going to kill you—”
“I’m twenty years old, Celestia.”
“Magically. But physically and even biologically, you’re an old, old stallion.”
“You wound me.”
“You wound yourself! Have you looked in the mirror?” She grasped one of his shattered back legs, shaking it for emphasis and eliciting a surprised yelp of pain. “Every time you do this to yourself, I am reminded, again, of how little time we have left. Of how, despite everything, we can’t be together forever.” She paused to collect herself. “I don’t want to let you go. And I really don’t want to lose you before I absolutely have to.”
“Celly...”
“Groundwire,” she echoed, rather admonishingly. “You know I’m right.”
“Yeah... But—”
“But nothing.”
“No, no. Please, let me finish.”
She sat down, sighing.
“Celly, I wouldn’t deliberately hurt you. You know that. A hundred years, and I still love you just as much as I did the day we married.”
“Then take better care of yourself!” she cried. “You may have the mind and muscles of a young colt in his prime, but your bones are on the verge of crumbling. And I’m afraid that if this happens, again, next time... next time there won’t be a way to heal them.”
He sagged back in his slings, mood thoroughly flattened by the cold hammer of reality his beloved so expertly wielded.
“Please,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He gave the outward appearance of deep thought. But really, his mind was made up the second she used those eyes, and that tone of voice. It was almost no choice at all, really.
“Fine,” he said. “No more stunt flying.”
She relaxed.
"You have no idea, how relieved I am to hear you say that—"
“But you’ve got to do something for me in return.”
She looked up, raising an eyebrow at his knowing smile. She smirked.
“Maybe when your skeleton has stopped resembling a broken china cabinet.”
He gave a mock grunt of frustration, sagging into his bed theatrically. “Fine.”
“Nice to have things back to normal, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I almost thought we were going to have to bring in a jester or something to lighten the mood.”
“We already have one.”
Silence. Groundwire spared his wife a look of disbelief.
Then they both burst out laughing.
***
She always knew this day would come.
Princess Celestia ruled the known world. She was a mare who could, at a whim, call down the sun to smite her foes. She held the love and loyalty of a nation at her hooftips, to wield and brandish like the mighty weapons they were. She managed and approved and guided and led and did everything in her power to make Equestria a nation among nations.
And for the first time in a century...
...her schedule was empty.
For the first time in a century, she actually had the free time to gaze out from her balcony in the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters and take in the city of Everfree, in all its splendor. For what seemed to be the only instance in recent memory, there were no meetings, no courts, no nobles behaving uppity, and no monsters in dire need of vanquishing.
So, in lieu of actually doing anything, which had been her default mode of existence for so very long, Celestia simply ascended to her bedroom in the eastern tower, sat herself on the balcony, and did nothing.
It was more relaxing than she’d expected.
And then her 300-year-old-but-biologically-14 sister and her 130-year-old-but-magically-20 husband barged in and ruined everything.
“Tia! Tia! I did it! I finally did it!” exclaimed the gangly blue filly as she galumphed gaily into the bedroom.
“What?”
“I bent the lightning! Just like Fulminas can! It took me five whole years, but I finally did it!”
Celestia spotted the Prince in question stepping gingerly into the room behind the boisterously bounding belle, who was still repeating “I did it!” over and over.
Most ponies would react rather negatively to the sudden obstruction of free time. Celestia still had that impulse, even after three centuries, but she was well-practiced in the art of suppressing it.
“Quite the feat,” she granted. “And Fulminas taught you how to do it all by himself?”
“Well,” the prince in question interrupted, “it’s not like there’s anyone I could ask for help.”
“You mean...?”
He nodded. “Electromancy’s dead. I’m literally the last living being in the world who still knows how to do it. I figured, since I’m in the company of immortals, I might as well pass the torch on my way out.”
“You should have seen it, Tia! It was amazing!”
“She’s a natural.”
“Fulminas is the best brother-in-law ever!”
Celestia smiled. Soon enough, Luna would grow out of her childish enthusiasm for nearly everything, so it was to everypony’s benefit to savor moments like this while they lasted. When that disposition faded, it was a death of an entirely different sort, but a death nonetheless.
She’d gotten rather tired of thinking about death lately.
“...and then I shot the lightning back up and it made a giant shower of sparks! It was incredible!”
Oh, right. Luna was still being cheerful.
“One wonders when she’s going to run out of adjectives,” muttered Groundwire, who’d subtly taken his place at Celestia’s side.
“Oh, she’ll invent a few if she manages to hit her second wind soon enough. After all, she does have the ‘best brother-in-law ever.’”
“She exaggerates.”
“And you’ve mellowed,” she shot back. “What’s wrong, have the years finally dulled your wit?”
“If they have, I’d consider it a kindness if you killed me right now.”
“...and then they— Hey, are you two listening? This is important!”
“Oh, yes,” Celestia agreed. “Monumentally important. I bet you didn’t know you and Fulminas are the only two ponies alive who know how to shoot lightning out of their wings?”
Immature enthusiasm and mind-blowingly unprecedented information usually combine to produce a flabbergasted expression and eyes far too large to be sustained normally. Luna’s case was no different.
“...Really?”
“Yep.”
Luna looked at Fulminas. “Really!?”
“Afraid so.”
She pondered this information. With a smile, she reached her conclusion.
“Then we’ve got to teach other ponies about it!” she proclaimed, pointing a hoof in the air.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! Everypony should be able to shoot lightning! By royal decree!”
“Now there’s a campaign platform if I’ve ever heard one.”
“There’s no time to lose! Come on, we’ve got to get to the barracks!”
With that proclamation, Luna turned and sped down the stairway, to the ground level of the castle. Fulminas was not so urgent.
“She’s a mess,” Celestia muttered.
“That she is.”
“What you said, earlier, about being on your way out...?”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I really don’t think I have much time left.”
“Groundwire...”
“A year, maybe two. I’ve gotten the last thing on my checklist done. ‘Ensure that Electromancy does not fade into ancient legend,’ ding! Heh...”
“You’re being morbid.”
“I know,” he muttered, still smiling.
“So a year or two?”
“If that.”
“Then let’s make the most of it.”
“And how would you propose we go about that?”
“Well, for starters...” She turned back to the balcony door, the curtains of which were still flapping gently in the evening breeze. “...it just so happens that I have the rest of the night off. And dusk is due in about five minutes.”
“Honey, you make the dusk.”
“And you make lightning. Consider this my recompense for teaching my sister.”
“Alright.”
He joined her on the balcony, wrapping one wing around her.
It really was a beautiful sunset.
***
She always knew this day would come.
She’d known for two long, fantastic years.
She’d known every evening, when he flew up to her balcony and watched as she set the sun for the two of them.
She’d known every day, as he took his place by her side without fail at the court.
She’d known every time he put off teaching the Thunder Brigade to spend more time with her, until she had to order him not to any more.
She’d known every night, as he fell asleep in her embrace and dreamt of who-knows-what with that same dopey grin on his face.
She knew that Groundwire was dying.
He’d asked her to be strong. And as cliche as it sounded, she had promised to be.
So it was with surprising calmness that she reacted when Groundwire informed her one morning that he couldn’t breathe.
“I think this is it,” he said, still in the position in their bed he’d fallen asleep in the previous night.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, standing over him with concern.
“No. It’s almost like I’m falling back asleep again,” he noted with a small chuckle.
“Any last words? Any regrets?”
“Regrets?” he repeated. “No. Of course not.” He reached one hoof up to her face. “I took care of all of those a long, long time ago. The only thing I could possibly regret now is the mare I chose to spend my entire life with. And Celestia... know this. I have never been sorry that I married you.” He gave her a smile, which she returned wanly. “Never, ever, ever. I love you.”
She was tearing up. Mother help her, she was tearing up and she couldn’t think of anything to say and she was losing him, oh Mother she was losing him and it never felt real to her until she looked at him and faced it, and she wasn’t prepared and she was crying.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry.
“I... I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I was going to be strong about this, but I’m just—”
“For your sake or mine?”
“What?”
He was giving her that odd, lookish sort of look, with those big electric blue eyes of his.
“If you’re trying not to cry because you think I don’t want to see it, you can stop. The way I see it, what I want isn’t going to matter in a few minutes.”
She smiled again. That was Groundwire for you.
“I’m going to miss you when you’re gone,” she said, simply.
“Well, I would hope so. Otherwise I’d say I’ve done a pretty poor job as a husband.”
Despite everything, they laughed together.
“Look at me,” she said. “You’re dying and I’m making waste your last words trying to cheer me up.”
“I know a lot of stallions who went out doing what they loved,” he mused. “And if I can die having heard you laugh one last time, I’ll be happy.”
“How hopelessly romantic of you.”
“Celly, I’m on my deathbed. Could you not use words like ‘hopel—’”
She shushed him with a hoof. For a brief moment, they simply smiled at one another, both taking in the sight of the other’s happy face before the chance to see it fled from them forever.
“I’m glad it was you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” she said.
For another moment, they were still. Then she pulled him in for one last kiss.
Their lips met as his heart slowed to a stop. His mind, too, ceased turning its wheels and clicked to a standstill.
She felt the breath leave him as she pulled away.
He was dead. But for his final moments, he had been happy. And he still had that smile.
She smiled, too, even as tears began to blur her vision. Those one hundred and sixteen years hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things.
But they were still something to be proud of.
After a few minutes, or perhaps a few hours, Luna wandered in.
“Sister? Are you alright?”
“No,” she said, despite her bittersweet expression. “No, I highly doubt I’m alright.”
“Is... is Fulminas...?”
“Inform the undertaker. My husband is dead.”
***
The days came to a halt.
As would become tradition for deaths in the royal family, the sun and moon froze at dusk for a full twenty-four hours. The princesses urged the populace not to mourn unduly. Fulminas had lived, he had died, and in between, he’d been happy.
Celestia found she could not ask for much more than that.
***
She always knew this day would come.
Granted, not always, but she’d had an inkling the first time she’d laid eyes on that armor.
The Royal Guards had run into a snag. Pegasi simply weren’t getting their training fast enough, or efficiently enough. It was a long shot. But she’d finally gotten her excuse.
As gently as she could manage, she probed under the earth. She found the telltale magic aura of enchanted metal, and she brought it up as fast as she could without disturbing what was inside it.
The helmet — golden, as shiny as ever, and with not a fiber of its deep blue plume ruffled out of place.
Slowly, gingerly, she magically unbuckled the rest of the armor and pulled it up out of the ground. Some part of her recoiled at this — this was improper, this was disrespectful, this was not due the dead! — and then another part remembered what the late stallion in question had said all those decades ago.
“The way I see it, what I want isn’t going to matter in a few minutes.”
He’d loved her, right? He would want her to be happy... right?
In any case, the armor was above ground and the bones weren’t. That didn’t bother her. The fact that it didn’t bother her did bother her. It set her hooves shaking. What kind of madmare was she becoming, that she felt no remorse for violating her own husband's resting place!? But there was no turning back now. What was she going to do? Bury it back and ignore it?
No, not now. Not when there was such a convenient excuse to press it back into service.
She spared a glance at what she reckoned was a point six feet below the surface.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” she could almost hear him say. “You’re just disturbing my eternal rest with an emergency forced stripping. I can’t imagine why I would feel bad about this at all.”
She immediately clamped down on that line of thought before she made herself feel any worse.
Trying not to dwell on the ramifications of her actions, she levitated the golden set of armor behind her and out of the cemetery.
The overcast skies wouldn’t have been her first choice to underline a deed as ambiguously morbid as this, but the only other option was infuriatingly sunny, and that just wouldn’t do.
If anyone stopped her in the street and asked her what she was doing with that delightfully shiny set of gold plate, she’d say she was delivering it on Official Royal Business. It was even sort of true.
Her first and only interruption was meeting Luna in the castle hallway. She took one look at the clanky metallic bundle behind Celestia and had her figured out immediately.
“You didn’t.”
“It’s for a good cause—”
“You didn’t!”
“I’m just taking it to the artificer so she can copy the charms, and then I’m taking it right—”
“Celestia, that’s awful! I can’t believe you defiled your own husband’s grave just to get your hooves on that armor of his!”
“For the record, you seem to be taking this worse than either or I ever would.”
“You disturbed the dead!" Luna cried. "Is there a reason I shouldn't be taking this badly?”
“Well, if you’ll stop being outraged for a minute, I can give you one. But if you’d rather rant...”
“No, go on. Go on," she offered, unimpressed. "This I have to hear.”
She levitated the helmet back in front of her. Still polished to a mirror shine. Still immaculate. Still charmed with all the skill of a long-dead master enchanter.
“I dug it up because I wanted to see him again.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wanted to see him again.”
“Celestia, it’s a suit of armor. Unless you plan on dolling up a random guard with it, I sincerely doubt—”
“Oh, not just one.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The enchantments on this outfit will be copied and replicated by the castle’s best magicians. The pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony guards will all be issued sets nearly identical to this one. My entire security staff will be manned by mares and stallions magically shifted to the prime of physical fitness, and virtually indistinguishable besides.”
Luna was caught somewhere between fascination, worry, and awkwardness. The latter of those three was on its way out, but alicorn adolescence never went away without a fight.
“And will all of these hypothetically outfitted guards look and sound just like your late husband?”
“No.”
“Oh, thank goodness—”
“Just all of the pegasus stallions.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’m serious!”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit...”
“Morbid?”
“Yes.”
“The term has come up a few times. But... I’m not trying to resurrect him.”
“Really.”
“I just want to remember what he looks like. You knew him, you knew what a good stallion he was. To let him fade into memory like this would be...”
“It would be the natural way of things. Ponies die, Celestia. They die and they’re forgotten, and that’s just how the world works. Why can’t you accept that?”
“...Because we don’t.”
Luna had no snappy retort for that fact.
“We don’t die,” Celestia pressed. “We aren’t forgotten. We’ve seen and done things that nopony else can even conceive of today. And to let a stallion like Groundwire fade into memory because ‘that’s just the way it goes’ would be doing him a massive disservice. I don’t want to forget.”
“You loved him?”
“I still do.”
“Then go ahead,” Luna said, accepting defeat. “And never let it be said that you never gave me anything to think on.”
“Who knows,” Celestia remarked as she passed. “Maybe you’ll find a ‘Fulminas’ of your own some day.”
Luna didn’t have a retort for that, either.
***
Groundwire — scratch that, the guard gave her a curt nod as she made her way to the dais to begin Day Court.
The guard. Not Groundwire. Not her husband, just a regular stallion whom she’d dressed up to look like him.
“I take it everything’s in order?”
“Absolutely, Your Highness,” he said. He had the same voice. He may have even used the same inflection. But there was no mistaking him for anyone but a Royal Pegasus guard of Everfree. Not to say the whole armor scheme had been a total failure, but there were some things that just couldn’t be replicated.
She sat, pensively. Perhaps she was torturing herself with these glimpses of something she’d never have again. Perhaps she was better off not forcing herself to remember.
But every time she looked at one of her guards, she was reminded of any one of a thousand happy memories that had that face in them. She would remember laughing, crying, loving. And if she ever let anything that aroused that much emotion in her simply fade into the mists of time, she would never forgive herself.
So long as she preserved the things worth preserving, she would find the strength to endure.
END OF STORY ONE
